


Scars

by Shaish



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing these two so please forgive the horrendous mistakes.

Scars

 

His finger traces one jarringly angled across his hip, feeling the ridges beneath the pad of his thumb. It's over the bone, must've hurt like no tomorrow. He doesn't know where it came from, just like he doesn't know where most of them came from. He didn't have these before, he's sure of it. But he was young then, and he came back different. A twisted mirror version of who he used to be. The same, but not quite, just a little bit off but enough to make a difference, and not enough for anyone to think much more than that.

 

He lets his fingers slide over a few more, the scar tissue softer, smoother than the skin that isn't. It's a perfect lie, the one no one gets close enough to really have it sink in, except for him. For now. Their meetings are sporadic, at random, and they usually end up fighting first before they even get this far. _If_ they get this far. It's difficult to be close to him, and them being who they are just makes it harder, more than in the physical sense. He feels it whenever they dance around each other, between the series of punches, kicks, elbows, knives, eskrima, bullets. There's a wall there, covered in spikes just waiting for fresh blood, but the roots are cracked and warn, and he can only imagine how hard it is to have to keep them up all the time. Sometimes he doesn't have to imagine because he does it himself. One slip, one step too far and it's too much. Walking a rope line and one false move, one misstep, one slight imbalance and you tip too far. And knowing him, everything would probably shatter.

 

And not for the better. 

 

He can feel eyes on him as his lips slide over a scar on his shoulder. Contradicting their color he can almost imagine it's what heat vision feels like just before it burns through your flesh, muscle and bone. But he isn't looking, he's too focused on the scar, the one on the side of his neck, and the other man knows he is, which is why he can feel eyes that burn on him. It's a warning, and he hadn't even realized he'd leaned in, tongue darting out across his lips and wetting them, moonlight glancing off the shine. So he stops, he doesn't touch it, and if he were anyone else he'd probably have a bullet in his head by now, a knife between his ribs, or maybe even just tossed off the bed and onto the floor, on his way out. But he isn't, because he knows where this scar came from, _who_ it came from, and that's just as dangerous.

 

Another line to walk, another wall to scale.

 

But not tonight. Just this once, maybe he'll give him a break. 

 

So he leans his head up instead, dives in for a kiss that ends up being more rage and pain than affection, and it certainly isn't love. At least, not the kind on the Hallmark cards. And he thinks: _just this once_. They can fight in bed, they can fight tomorrow, they can tumble over that line later, because the opportunity is always there. But just for tonight, he'll keep his feet on the rope, just to make sure that Jason does the same, because he's always tried to follow, and one time when he wasn't there, years ago, when it really counted..it didn't work. So he'll stay tonight, even if that means he can't fly.


End file.
